The Wainwrights are the most prolific multi-generational musical family this side of the Carters and the Guthries. And those families never made their own travails quite so voyeuristic: listening to the Wainwrights is a bit like watching a whole season of Six Feet Under in one sitting. Martha’s brother is Rufus, her father is Loudon III, her mother and aunt are Kate and Anna McGarrigle. You can hear the family resemblance in Martha’s sweet supper club number “How Soon” — Martha’s melancholy is almost uplifting. But the languid, atmospheric hum of “I Will Internalize” is proof of a student who has moved beyond simply parroting her teachers. And “BMFA,” whose acronym of a title we’ll let you figure out for yourself (and which she’s dedicated to her father in concert), is the most alluring piece of profanity since Liz Phair traded in her diary for a gold lamé tube top and designer jeans. Let’s hope Martha keeps her current pants on.
Bear vs. Shark
Whoever said that adults are constantly trying to relive their youth isn’t as crazy and jaded as all of the actuaries in your life might have you think. I, for one, am happy to find a band that�ll make me recall something as banal as rolling down the highway in my Chevy Sprint Turbo, bobbing my head to strains of Fugazi, The Pixies, Nation of Ulysses, Quicksand — whatever made a lot of noise. Plus, cacophony was pretty much all that sounded right on 3-inch factory speakers cranked loud enough to drown out the rumble of that three-cylinder Sprint engine, especially when that turbo power kicked in. Bear vs. Shark makes me misty-eyed over those kinds of memories without pushing too many nostalgia buttons of their own, so pretend you’re behind the wheel and bob along.
The 101
Lest we forget that the three golden rules of pop are hooks, hooks, and hooks, the 101 are here to remind us, and remind us, and remind us. It’s not just that the guitar-driven power pop melodies are spare and infectious, nor that the emo-laden lyrics are repeated with mantra-like efficiency, it’s that the combination feels like a head-bobbing security blanket that we can wrap ourselves around all summer long.
The Raging Family
Here’s a brief recap of The Raging Family’s bio: raised and home-schooled by bohemians in Upstate New York; lived in Eugene, Oregon until driven from their house by local authorities because of noise and behavior complaints; settled down in an enclave somewhere in the hills outside of town to focus on music and art. If you ask me it all sounds a little cultish, and at the risk of becoming Sharon Tate to their Manson Clan, I’m gonna throw my support behind The Raging Family’s latest “concept” album. Black Holes is ostensibly a journey through space and time, but how they get us there is through an eclectic collection of styles ranging from the knob-twisting and wax-scratching exploits of Land of the Loops and Prefuse 73, the found-sound rebelliousness of Negativland, the electro-clash abandon of Meat Beat Manifesto, the jazz exploration of Miles Davis and Sun Ra Arkestra, and even the psychedelic guitar masturbation of Carlos Santana’s Illuminations period. It’s a whole lot of styles to wrap your noodle around, but luckily the band has posted the entire album on their website for us to take it all in (the links below are just some highlights), and there are other entire albums there fully linked for the taking — but beware, the money you save on music today may go to pay for the cult deprogrammer you’ll need tomorrow.
Cass McCombs
I’ve been waiting for some MP3 newness from Cass McCombs (so I’d have an excuse to post something) ever since I first downloaded the blissfully doped-up “I Went to the Hospital” close to a year ago. But “Sacred Heart,” with its beautiful depiction of British middle-class existence as a tragically poetic way to go — yes, in the tradition of His Majesty Morrissey — is good enough to stand on its own. “Hospital” and “Not the Way” give you something to fill your headphones with lovely sounds for another few minutes.
Hezekiah
Apart from coming live with a multi-instrumental audiophile’s ethic that would make The Roots proud and a fist-pumping vocal delivery that would earn him a spot at the back of a Wu-Tang Clan tour bus, Hezekiah can also lay claim to being one of the only MCs who can throw his hands in the air and wave ’em like he’s from Delaware — because he is! Okay, so it’s really just suburban Illadelph, but it’s still good to see the land of DuPont chemicals and not much else get some play — and that Hezekiah can hold his own against any hip-hop crew from Anywhereville makes it that much cooler to root for the D-state.
The Frames
First, some bidness. We’re happy to announce our first reskin since we started 3hive just over a year ago. Jon has whipped up some hot new colors for spring and a tighter, meaner sidebar featuring our patented Navotron technology. If you’re having trouble seeing any of this new sweetness and hence have no idea what we’re going on about, holding down your shift key and hitting the refresh/reload button in your browser a couple of times should do the trick. And now…
Although it would be easy to dismiss the Frames as a Celtic Indigo Boys for the way their fans can sing along so dutifully to “Star Star” and “Lay Me Down,” consider this post (and the hardly-facile climax to “Dream Awake”) an admonition not to dismiss The Frames so quickly. The harmonies are sweet, the lyrics are tepid, the guitar strumming is as reassuring as a bubbling brook — and in spite of all this, they sound awfully fine to these aging ears.
Quasimoto
Songs about potheads always get me listening for the same reason songs about gangstas do: because I ain’t one. And coming from somewhere near Oxnard, California (word to anyone who’s never been there: the name don’t sound street because the city ain’t), I’m betting Quas, the heliumized alter-ego of Madlib, isn’t a gangsta either. But the man can freak a funky beat like the shit was in a blender set to Negativland. Don’t worry if you don’t smoke the doob — Quasimoto’s doing enough for all of us.
The Occasion
The subdued, swaggering basslines and organ expanses you’ll find from The Occasion will probably bring plenty of comparisons to mind. The one that lights up most in my own noggin is The Doors. They may be more wallflower than life of the party, and their noir melodies may make you want to look over your shoulder rather than to the sky, but these cloudy-headed dudes can still ride on the storm without getting the least bit wet.
Clem Snide
For a group that has sounded so methodical for so long, this new, Tennessee Waltzy pace is nearly euphoric. Likewise, there’s a sonic sheen to “Fill Me With Your Light” that seems almost…polished. But beneath all of the unassuming hoopla is the same old song: the guys who come across as more down on themselves than anyone else have this strange power to make us feel a whole lot better about ourselves.